


Evasion

by Bluepaw265



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), Call of Duty: Ghosts - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - Superhuman, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluepaw265/pseuds/Bluepaw265
Summary: ‘What…what-Another flare of pain; his vision went white. Then nothing. No agony, no horrible headache, no nothing. And all Logan could think was,holy shit, I should be dead.’Logan has an impossible suspicion.





	Evasion

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for self harm, though it's completely justified and semi-exaggerated. Also beware of some implied self-hate. 
> 
> This is for readers waiting for Ghosts of the Past and to fuel my need to finish it. 
> 
> Also, with relationships tag, I think of the '&' as family related and the '/' as lovers. Is that the same for everyone else?
> 
> (P.S. Longest prologue ever which recounts the events of the game (+ some calmer moments).)

**_Prologue_ **

His suspicion started with the knife wound in Fort Santa Monica.

It was deep; the Fed above him made sure of that, twisted it and made sure it _hurt_. In the centre of his stomach, it should have dug deep into his intestines, severed a few nerves, maybe even nicked an artery.

Logan felt it – felt the knowledge that it would kill him.

And…and yet…

Hesh came crashing in. Dispatched the Fed and checked his wound with frantic eyes.

And said he was okay.

For a moment, Logan stared with disbelieving eyes at his brother, half-delirious with pain.

Then the Ghosts burst through the roof and they were lifted into the helicopter.

While Hesh demanded to go back, Logan watched the interaction while holding his wound – one that wasn’t bleeding as much as it should’ve been.

The uneasy feeling was brushed away when they learned their father was the leader of the Ghosts.

/ / /

It happened again in Caracas, his and Hesh’s first mission as Ghosts.

They’d just gathered intel on Rorke from Ramos when the Ghost Killer himself sent a live broadcast to them. A stalling technique; they barely made it out the window when the skyscraper began to fall.

Plummeting to the ground, glass falling around them…it wasn’t like he’d get out unscathed.

A late explosion rocked the building; it sent glass rocketing toward them.

One hit him in the side of the neck.

He yelled, one silenced by the wind.

Their order was missed; Logan watched in blind pain as the other Ghosts opened their parachutes.

Doing the same a second late, Logan grunted when the air snapped him up with the other Ghosts.

Left hand holding the straps, he felt around his jugular with his right hand. He found the glass a moment later. 

It was deep, large, and painful. Not too thick, but _fuck_ , he had that same feeling as before; felt the knowledge of death, but…

He got a good grip and ripped it out.

_No cigar._

He let out a deep, pained gasp, holding the glass in his fuzzy field of vision.

Half of the 3cm long jagged piece was covered in blood; Logan put it in his left hand before putting pressure on the spurting wound.

Taking a deep breath, the new Ghost leaned his head on the left side of his parachute and closed his eyes.

_“Logan, where are you going?”_ His comm crackled to life, Hesh’s voice loud in his ears.

Opening his eyes, Logan found he was indeed drifting from the others.

Blinking the sleepiness and pain from his worn form, he traded the glass between his hands and pressed his left hand awkwardly against his neck, allowing his right hand to guide him back to the others.

He reached them within twenty seconds.

_“You okay?”_

Logan looked at the glass in his hand then lifted his other hand off his wound.

_Way better than it should be._ He thought, _just like before_.

Looking at his brother, he nodded.

And meant it.

(Physically. He meant it physically, because what the _hell_ it happening to him?)

/ / /

He looked at his neck that night, when everyone else was asleep on the plane.

In the dim light of the small bathroom, he pulled down the collar on his vest. It was little more than a big scab by then, not to thick but _long_.

His stomach clenched. The feeling was back. That he shouldn’t be alive, that his wound should need stitches, that…that death eluded him. Like death neglected him.

He shoved that thought to the back of his mind, grabbing the glass from his vest pocket.

Long, sharp, and bloody.

Considering the glass didn’t kill him, Logan’s going to keep it as a memento of sorts.

He gripped it a little to hard in promise; blood started welling around his hand.

Sighing, Logan put the glass back before getting to work on his hand.

(Later, he placed it under his pillow, where it didn’t see the light of day for many years.)

/ / /

Logan couldn’t sleep.

It was the night after Federation Day, the day they captured Rorke.

Dad told him to get some sleep while he watched their captive, but…

His gut hadn’t stopped somersaulting through the three hours he’d been twisting and turning and fuck it, he should just surrender; he won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

Rising from the messy sheets, the young Ghost quietly walked towards the door, twisting the doorknob open.

In the dim light of the back of the plane, Logan could hear mumbles towards the front.

Walking barefoot, he made his way to his father.

“…do to you?” Opening the final door to his destination, Logan heard the tail end of the conversation.

Looking around, the young Ghost spotted Rorke tied a plastic chair and his father a step away, watching him with an assault rifle in hand.

Before Elias could say anything Rorke butted in, a smirk on his scarred face.

“This your son, Elias?” Rorke’s smirk widened. “Looks just like his mother!”

Sore spot. Both of them flinched.

The Ghost Killer laughed. Elias turned to his son. “Logan, what are you doing here?”

Pursing his lips, Logan looked away.

Problem: it gave both occupants a good view of his neck.

A gasp enveloped the room. Rorke whistled. “That’s one hell of a hit, kid. Right on the jugular.” He gave his father a look. “Isn’t your daddy taking care a’ ya?”

Logan glared. Elias walked over and put a hand on the wound; now a red scar, judging on how he didn’t feel the scab. “Logan, when…when did this happen?”

And Logan didn’t respond, because…

_You wouldn’t believe me if I told you._

/ / /

Logan’s hands were bloody.

He was in kit now, forming a circle around Rorke with the other Ghosts while his father interrogated his former ally.

The punching was good; his stomach was bouncing around and his fingers kept twitching in anticipation for _something_.

But now that was about to change.

“Grab his chair!” Elias had had enough; Logan was happy to comply.

Grabbing the corner of the cheap plastic chair, the young Ghost began to push.

Rorke locked eyes with him for a moment. A moment where the Ghost Killer’s acting seemed to flow out of him, where a smirk danced over his face, where he appeared to know exactly what he was feeling.

Like…like he knew about his nerves. And why his gut hadn’t stopped flipping.

His face was drained from all colour; Rorke rattled on about his father’s decision.

Then his father was slamming Rorke into the floor and Logan could only reach for his gun when the man laughed.

“You’ve just made my job a hell of a lot easier!”

Enemy plane. Gun. Grapples. Dad yelling. Explosion. Lost gun.

It was better that he didn’t move back because he managed to grab the railing at the last second.

Through all the air pressure and debris hammering his body, Logan didn’t miss the knowing smirk that pulled at Rorke’s arrogant smile.

Briefly, he wondered why the Feds weren’t shooting his vulnerable form.

“If you make it out of this, kid, come find me!” The Ghost Killer yelled, hands on his knees on the ‘top’ part of the platform Logan was hanging to. “There’s always room for one more!”

And then Rorke was extracted and Logan couldn’t hold on any longer.

/ / /

Ramming into solid debris from the destroyed plane wasn’t his favourite knock-out blow.

Waking to branches ready to slap him in the face was the worst wake-up call he ever had.

After getting snagged in the branches, it took him a moment to re-orientate himself. Then he was automatically grabbing his knife and cutting the parachute straps and _fuck_ did the fall hurt.

The forest spun. Logan’s head pounded; he heard voices, but they dug into his head like knives.

Pushing his face into the cool forest floor, Logan tuned everything out for a few bliss moments.

Then he heard a scuffle and dad’s cry of alarm sent him on his feet.

Heartbeat monitor and knife at the ready, Logan set out to find his father and save his brother.

/ / /

Hiding didn’t work.

He tried it, he really did, but the urgency to get to dad as quickly as possible was consuming him with each passing second.

Which meant making mistakes.

His heartbeat monitor beeped erratically.

Logan turned around in the cover of shrubbery – too fast.

A yell, the muzzle of a gun, a flash, and-

/ / /

_There are three bullets in my stomach._

He gasped awake.

_There are three bullets in my stomach._

Blood filled his mouth, face, eyes.

_There are three bullets in my stomach._

Choking on blood, Logan automatically turned on his side, coughing it out.

_There…there’s…_

His head stabbed him; something metallic popped out.

_A bullet in my head?_

His body convulsed when his nerves flared.

_Holy…ah-_

And three smooth something’s fell out of his stomach.

_What…what-_

Another flare of pain; his vision went white.

Then nothing.

No agony, no horrible headache, no nothing.

And all Logan could think was, _holy shit, I should be dead._

/ / /

There was a long time where he just lay there, the shock eating him alive.

But then he remembered his dad and Hesh and fuck, even that bastard who shot ( _killed_ ) him.

Logan placed a still shaking hand on his stomach.

The blood was still sticky, but underneath it…

_Nothing. Just a scab._

Placing his other hand on his head, Logan let out a shaky breath.

_Scar tissue._

And the young Ghost laughed.

A hysterical laugh that soon turned into a sob.

_I-I don’t…I don’t understand!_

He let the shock rock him for a few moments. Then he whipped the blood and tears from his eyes and stood on shaky legs.

An image of the Fed who shot him flashed through his mind.

_Yeah_ , Logan thought, _I’m going to kill you._

/ / /

Logan grinned savagely.

The group of five were standing around the main path to the plane, chatting in Spanish both into their comms and to each other, they seemed to be celebrating their victory.

He doubted they expected him to rise from the dead.

Rising from his spot a couple metres away, Logan readied his knife, heartbeat monitor increasing in frequency as he got closer.

He got an immediate reaction, a widening of the eyes and an open mouth from the one who faced him, yelling a warning, but by then it was too late.

The knife went into the unsuspecting Fed’s neck with no resistance.

There was a yell, bullets attempted to hit him.

Ducking behind the corpse, Logan used it to take the onslaught.

There was a break in the gunfire; he lunged for the closest Fed.

His bloody face was the last thing they saw.

Leaving the knife in their neck, Logan ripped the AK-12 out of his victim’s hands.

The body fell; he adjusted his grip.

Looking up, Logan saw the three remaining Feds shaking, trying to put in another magazine but their uncontrollable limbs making them miss their mark.

One managed to get it in; the young Ghost shot him first.

Quickly firing at the next vulnerable Fed, Logan aimed at the final enemy, quaking in front of the opening to the crash site.

Without further ado, he pulled the trigger.

_Click._

Logan hummed; out of ammo.

He grinned at the Fed, still frozen with wide eyes. “Guess it’s your lucky day, pal.”

The young man raced away without further ado.

_Guess it has something to do with me coming back from the dead._

Grinning, Logan picked up another gun and his knife, coming out of the corpse with a sickening slurp.

Surveying the four corpses, the young Ghost developed a dark smile.

_Payback’s a bitch._

/ / /

The gunfire drew the attention of multiple Feds, but by then he was in the shrubbery a hundred metres away, ready to meet with his likely worried father.

His gut tingled; he wasn’t sure his status would be taken well.

“Logan, we can see you on the tracker. You’re almost to us.” Elias; his gut jumped in anticipation.

Walking up the hill, Logan greeted the sunlight with a small smile; he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel its warmth again.

His heartbeat monitor beeped, blue dots thumping on his screen; Logan saw Keegan and dad across the stream, waiting for him.

They haven’t seen the blood yet; dreading when they do, Logan walked forward.

By the time he stepped into the stream, a gasp broke the calm silence. Continuing onward despite the reaction, he reached his father and Keegan’s side.

He could only see Keegan’s eyes through the mask, but he knew his eyes were blown wide, much like his fathers. Elias was taking it all in, eyes wandering up his bloody face to the bullet holes in his shirt.

“L-Logan…” His father reached out a hand and gripped his arm, face pale, taking a breath to steady himself before the leader of the Ghosts focused. “Are you okay?”

Looking down, he bit his lip.

_No, not really._

He nodded, and that conversation finished quickly.

/ / /

Retrieving Merrick and Hesh was a breeze.

Their reactions to his state were expected.

“L-Logan!” Hesh was by his side in an instant, hands wandering up his stomach, over his neck, on his face. “You’re bleeding!”

He grabbed Hesh’s wrist, holding back his prying hands. Giving his brother a reassuring look, he let it go.

They didn’t fall on his bloody skin again.

“Okay…” Hesh let out a breath, calming himself down. “Okay…”

They moved onward.

/ / /

They weren’t seen for the remainder of the mission.

Which meant jumping off the waterfall without any real urgency.

His gut twisted; he was the final one to take the leap and he could see the others urging him to jump.

_Well…_ Taking a deep breath, Logan relaxed his muscles, easing his nerves. _Here I go._

The young Ghost leapt off the cliff.

/ / /

The water was red. A dusty, pinkish red.

It reminded him of a movie he watched when he was a teenager; his gut twisted when he remembered it was mostly his own blood.

Letting the water drag him down for a moment, Logan closed his eyes.

There was a hum in the water.

Opening his eyes, he spotted their extraction boat above him.

Logan started kicking toward the surface.

Breaking it, he breathed, holding a hand above his head to block the harsh rays that assaulted his eyes.

“Logan!” A hand in front of him; he took it.

Hesh pulled him on board, smiling lightly.

Then his eyes pinpointed on the former bullet wound on his forehead and shit went down.

/ / /

Logan’s hand itched toward the knife holstered by his side.

“Are you sure he’s alright?” Elias asked hesitantly, eyes searching his now bare chest, lingering on the three circular scabs that, if joined by a straight line, would look like a triangle. The knife wound from Fort Santa Monica was white by then, in the middle of the three scabs.

It reminded him of a certain symbol…

“Yeah, positive. He hasn’t got a scratch on him.” Keegan analysed from his crouched position in front of him, shaking his head in disbelief.

After pulling him aboard, the Ghosts hadn’t hesitated in taking him to a back room and sitting him down on the bunk bed beside the wall. Forcing him to take off his bloody shirt, Elias had left to go and talk with the captain of the ship.

He came back halfway through, twiddling his thumbs, and Hesh…

“What about his head? Can’t you see the scar?” His brother pointed at the centre of his forehead, standing beside dad. “He didn’t have that earlier.”

Keegan hummed, blue eyes digging into his forehead. Frowning, he stood, rubbing a gloved thumb over it; Logan felt the circular waves underneath the light examination.

Blinking, the medic turned away from Logan. The young Ghost gripped the hilt of his knife. “That’s…That’s a healed bullet wound.”

“What?” The occupants cried out in disbelief.

“But…But…what?” Hesh looked down, eyes running over the floor like it’d give him the answers.

“That’s impossible.” Merrick stated bluntly, shaking his head from his seat beside the wall to Logan’s left. “A bullet wound there? It would’ve killed him.”

Keegan shook his head. “I know but…that’s definitely a bullet wound. Recently healed too, if the red scaring means anything.”

There was silence, all looking at Logan.

He gripped the knife tighter.

“Keegan, can you look at the right side of his neck, please?” Elias’s calm voice dispelled the tense silence, his lips pursed.

Logan paled.

The medic nodded.

Keegan’s hand reached to cup his face, but Logan grabbed his wrist with his left hand, stopping him.

“Logan?” Hesh asked hesitantly, watching his face morph from unreadable to determined.

A moment of silence, of no movement, of nothing.

Then Elias saw the knife he was gripping and stood from his chair. “Logan!”

And, before the others could stop him, before they could recognise the threat...

Logan ripped the bloody knife from its holster and brought it down on his side.

The pain was blinding. His surroundings went white. Alarmed cries burnt his ears.

“It’s okay…it’s okay…” Tears built in his eyes; he had no idea if what he was trying to say was coming out right.

Pulling the knife out of his stomach was the worst; he didn’t know what he did in that white-hot moment, but he knew what happened after.

Hands on his face, on his wrists, on his wound. When the pain became bearable, he found himself pinned down on the mattress, knife in Merrick’s hands.

Keegan was putting pressure on his wound; Logan could feel it healing.

Pulling on his human restraints, Logan met firm resistance.

Meeting Hesh’s and his father’s eyes, both of whom were holding his arms down, the young Ghost gritted his teeth. He pushed again; no cigar.

_Last resort_.

“Keegan,” an unfamiliar, pained voice reached his ears, scratchy with its rare use, “it’s okay.” His nerves stabbed him; he clamped down on his teeth and closed his eyes, arching his back. Easing up again, Logan panted. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Hesh yelled, viciously shaking his head. “You-you just stabbed yourself!”

Ignoring him, Logan continued. “Let go. It’ll be okay.”

Keegan met his eyes with uncertainty; he looked at Elias in indecision.

A moment of conflict raced through his fathers’ eyes, searching Logan’s.

After a long moment, Elias nodded. “Do it.”

Hesh recoiled. “Dad!”

Nevertheless, Keegan pulled back.

There was lots of blood sticking to his skin and the covers below him, but no new blood joined it.

The medic’s eyebrows raised; he rubbed his hands over the fresh blood in search of the wound.

And only found a jagged scar.

/ / /

“It’s impossible. Elias, what we’re seeing…it’s impossible!” Merrick exclaimed, knife on the other side of the room, running a hand through his hair.

A minute had passed. The other Ghosts were standing in a semicircle around the mattress, preventing him from escaping.

“I know.” Fixing Logan with a calm stare, his father continued. “Logan, when…when did it start?”

The young Ghost bit his lip.

After a few moments of silence, Elias gave him a look; no way out. “My suspicion? In Fort Santa Monica, the day of the invasion.” He shook his head, snorting when Hesh’s eyes widened. “The Fed stabbed me in the gut and I…I just _knew_ it should have killed me. Just some sort of…premonition. Knowledge? It…it’s hard to explain.”

“Your neck?”

“The day after in Caracas when we were parachuting; explosion sent glass into my jugular…like Rorke said.” Logan shuddered. “Should’ve died again…but…” He shook his head. “And then again today, except…”

Looking down at the bloody sheets, the young Ghost sighed. “I…I did.”

Fingers twitching, gut twisting, tears building, Logan looked up again. Nobody was talking, nobody had a readable expression, nobody wanted to speak.

Like they knew he was about to burst.

“A-and I…I just…” He closed his eyes, withheld tears smudging, letting out a long breath. Trying again, Logan opened his eyes. “I don’t-”

He wasn’t ready; the tears fell without his consent and then he was breathing harshly, sobbing. Bringing his knees to his chest, Logan placed his head in because he just needed to escape this suffocating, rocking room.

No, he needed to escape this uncertainty. This impossibility. This…this reality.

Hands wrapped around his tense frame. Another set joined it.

His sobs harshened, the tears fell faster, and Logan…

Logan whispered what he needed to.

“I don’t understand. “

/ / /

“Why didn’t you stab yourself in the arm?”

Logan laughed. “You think I woulda gotten there? You know how fast Keegan is.”

“Heh, I guess you’re right. Still, I never want you to do that again.”

“Yes boss.”

/ / /

He got a migraine that night.

It had started small, right before they reached a safe house to stay in for the night along the coast of Costa Rica. They planned to be extracted via aircraft by early morning; all agreed to get some rest while they could.

Logan had just wanted some sleep, if only to ease the tiredness weighing his eyelids.

Too bad it kept him from having a restful sleep.

Sleeping for an hour, he awoke. And wished he were asleep, because _fuck_ , he never wanted to wake up to the constant scream his head emitted, lacking the ability to take a breath.

He twisted, he turned. He curled up, he held his head. He gasped, he cried.

A never-ending cycle; whenever he did manage to grasp his haven, it’d slip away an hour later, head screaming demands.

There was one time when someone was by his side. It was a hazy moment; obscured with tiredness and pain.

He remembered them tilting his head up, getting him to drink and swallow something.

And that was that.

/ / /

The unsteady thump, though much better, joined him that morning.

Though unrelenting, Logan was glad it was almost over.

When he finally joined the others in the kitchen with dark bags and a pale face, Hesh gave him a small nod.

The smile he gave him was small, but it was enough.

/ / /

“We don’t speak of this.” Elias warned, giving them all a sharp look. “To _anyone_.”

The Ghosts all nodded without hesitation; Logan felt his heart swell.

/ / /

Operation ‘Clockwork’ was easy enough.

Infiltrate base. Download files. Get out.

Other than an odd look here and there, it was back to how it was.

Logan was content.

/ / /

The oil rig in Antarctica was a bitch.

He meant the explosion; the burns he got were two degree and _fuck_ , he almost missed the rope for extraction.

There was a piece of metal in his right arm, a few shards in his right hand, a bullet in his left shoulder.

On the plane, they all popped out, one by one.

Logan tried not to shake.

/ / /

The pressure on his ribs, the inability to breathe, the darkness in his vision…

_Yeah_ , Logan wasn’t going that deep ever again.

/ / /

Logan didn’t like Brazil.

Not the place, but the Feds reactions in it.

When their cover was blown, they yelled some strange things. Pointed at him, even. It was unsettling.

He learnt what it was all about the next day.

/ / /

The safe house in Las Vegas. 28 June 2027.

If he’d known they’d be ambushed, if he knew they’d be captured, if he’d known dad wouldn’t last the day…

Maybe he could’ve saved him.

/ / /

Whatever those canisters held, it was strong stuff.

It didn’t stop Logan from seeing the two Feds heading their way, watching him warily.

Then he was out of it.

/ / /

His limbs were numb, his vision was fuzzy, his head pounded.

Slowly, it all began to make sense.

Hesh, being dragged by his shirt. Himself, being dragged on the cool tiles. The Fed dragging his brother, watching him.

Said enemy warned his friend in Spanish; Logan was out before he heard the response.

/ / /

Back again.

Hesh, further away. His limbs, waking up. His vision, clearer.

Spanish reached his ears.

Logan looked up, his neck straining with the effort.

In the large space, Merrick was on his knees, hands tied behind him. Four Feds were around him, three with their weapons drawn.

“That all you got, you piece of shit?” The Ghost yelled, loud in Logan’s ears.

The Fed dragging Hesh noticed his awareness; another warning.

A Fed he didn’t see beside him flipped his gun around and rammed it into his head.

/ / /

“Well I guess if you want something done right, do it yourself.” An unfamiliar voice; he opened his eyes slowly, lifting his head-

A hand on the back of his head pulled it up the rest of the way, greeting him with the man they caught a week ago.

“You’re awake. Good.” Rorke smiled, pushing his head away.

Logan blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Nice to have the family back together, isn’t it?” Rorke stated, hands spread before he glanced at Logan. Turning back to Elias, he gave him a meaningful look. “We’re just missing our quiet friend…” The Ghost Killer looked at the young Ghost, turning back to Elias and placing his hands on his knees when he got no response. “Where’s Keegan?” A darker tone; Logan’s gut jumped with premonition.

His father’s response was immediate. “You know I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

Raising from his position, Rorke gave Elias a look. “No?” Unclipping his gun from its holster, the young Ghost’s gut cried with warning. “Well let’s see if I can change your mind…”

Gun raised. Bullet fired. Pain exploded in his chest.

The world tilted. Black was his vision. His family cried in outrage.

“Easy junior, I haven’t even started with you yet.” A pause. “Besides, I’ve heard rumours on the young ‘Undead’ over here.”

His vision cleared slightly; Elias took charge.

“Logan! Look at me! Look at me, son!” He did, grunting.

Rorke added his fifty cents. Logan focused on the knowledge that he should be dying. Again.

“Dammit, Rorke! This is between you and me! Leave my boys out of it!”

Logan watched the exchange with increasing clarity; the wound was healing.

“But you…you call yourself a Ghost?” Rorke yelled after punching his father twice, Logan wiggling through his restraints. “You and your sons, you’re dead!” The restraints loosen. He pulled. “Your name dies with you.”

Logan broke free.

He went for the gun.

Rorke noticed.

They grappled; the Ghost Killer had his hands clamped on his wrist, weapon pointed at his father.

“He’s still got a little life in him!” Logan struggled; Rorke laughed. “Maybe the rumours are true!” Chest stabbing him, the betrayer got his opening. “Didn’t he ever tell you not to aim guns at people? They could go off!”

Another stab; a bullet entered his father’s chest.

Horror rocketed through him; adrenaline pushed the pain back and his strength forward.

“That’s it! Just a little more that way!” Logan’s grit his teeth; Hesh yelled something. “Come on…Point it…at…dad!”

Another shot; one in the chest.

Rorke let him go.

Logan stumbled to the side.

The butt of the weapon slammed into his right temple.

The world went white.

On the floor, darkened vision.

Rorke, focusing on his downed form.

“Hoo, you’ve got fire in you, kid, I like that. Risking your life to protect your Captain.” He turned away, facing his wounded father. “You could learn something from him, Elias.”

Pained, his Captain stressed three words. “He’s my son.”

“Yeah…” Logan’s gut twinged, vision clearing. “And he’s going to get to watch you die.”

Three bullets entered his chest, underneath his heart.

Hesh yelled.

Logan wished this was a twisted dream.

Rorke threw his long-time enemy to the floor. Spewing insults, Hesh was ignored.

Watching his father in pain, watching him die…Logan hoped he had his uncanny ability. (Deep down, he knew he didn’t.)

“I-I’m proud of you, Logan.” A shaking breath. The young Ghost felt tears fill his eyes. “Everything’s gonna be…okay.”

Blood. Snaking around him. Forming a pool.

Logan tried to breathe (daddy). Tried to inhale (don’t!). Tried to exhale (Please don’t go!).

His father relaxed. Logan didn’t scream (not aloud).

There was a muddy foot on his father’s face. “Oh… you are right, Elias.”

Gun.

_Daddy! Daddy!_ Logan tried to yell, to cry, to anything. _I love you! Don’t leave! Please, please, please don’t go!_

“I’m not a Ghost.”

_Daddy, I love you, I love you, I love you._

“I’m the man that hunts them and sends them back to the other side.”

Gun cocked. Rorke pressed it against his head.

_I love you._

The bullet pierced his skull.

/ / /

Raged threats with murderous intent.

Blood mixed with water.

A twisted bastard laughed.

/ / /

Logan wondered what would have happened if he’d let go of the gun. If he’d punched Rorke in the face with his free hand. If he’d slammed a heel onto his toes.

Would things still be the same, or would it have presented the perfect opportunity to kill the motherfucker?

/ / /

In the still waters of sorrow, Logan was drowning.

But then he thought of Rorke and the water raged, a murderous whirlpool becoming the empty place inside.

It was his fault, though. Logan didn’t do enough. He didn’t heal, didn’t have the strength, didn’t do anything enough.

_Daddy_ died that day. Logan died when he did.

/ / /

Rage didn’t want to embrace him (much like death).

Rorke killed his dad. Rorke killed daddy, but…

It was Logan’s fault.

(Holy shit, he did still want to kill that son-of-a-bitch. Sink a knife into his neck and let Hesh stab the life out of him. But it didn’t change a thing.

Rorke was the perpetrator…and Logan was the one who failed to stop him.)

/ / /

The next forty minutes were quiet.

The remaining Ghosts were back together, tied and kneeling on the floor.

Logan’s dead stare dug into the Feds ahead of him, unrelenting.

(Merrick and Hesh tried not to look at him, tried not to give away anything, but with a look like that on his bloody face? They weren’t going to resist temptation.)

The ones behind him were on edge; had been since they entered the room and even more so when they were the victims to his stare.

(Or maybe they were tense because they snuck a look at his chest and found no blood flow, despite not having been treated.)

_Daddy_.

Another tense ten minutes passed.

Two Feds walk up to them. They tried not to show their nerves.

The one on his left pointed at him. “The boss wants…er…the youngest one alive.” The Fed hesitated towards the middle, his Spanish accent reaching Logan’s ears.

A tense nod from the female.

Giving him an almost fleeting look, she put a gun to his brother’s head.

Logan had to do something.

But shit, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe ( _daddy_ ). Couldn’t inhale ( _don’t_!). Couldn’t exhale ( _Please don’t go_!).

The gun pressed further into Hesh’s forehead. Logan felt pins and needles run up his arms.

There was a flash from the building across from them shone in Logan’s eyes.

He sagged in relief.

There was a bullet. The Fed about to kill his brother on her knees. A tense moment of silence, of shock, of _holy shit_. 

Then another bullet penetrated their skull and all hell broke loose.

/ / /

An army of Feds passed them in the kitchen.

Keegan having joined them, Logan felt calmer (his gut was still throwing up buckets, though).

Doorway to the main area. Rorke’s voice over the speakers.

Logan felt cold water wash over him. All he heard from Rorke’s speech was their names and ‘good luck’.

Moving onward with his team, Logan didn’t think he meant it.

/ / /

They got through the first onslaught unscathed.

The second? Yeah, nah.

Logan got a bullet in his left arm. There was no time to curse over it, because then they were entering an old apartment and jumping out the window.

Managing to catch the edge of the window, Logan held himself there. But then he was slipping and couldn’t hold on and _fuck_ , there was no way he was getting out unscathed.

Hitting the floor like he was doing a belly-flop upside down, Logan was out before he could curse.

/ / /

Hesh. Yelling his name.

The wake up was bleary; his gut was screaming with emergency sirens.

Unfortunately, his intuition had yet to be wrong.

Opening his eyes, he found out why.

Blackness. Total, utter darkness.

His brain felt like it was bleeding out of his ears; the back of it stabbed him relentlessly, his left arm pale in comparison.

Waving a hand in front of his face, Logan felt his throat clog up.

“David.” Mistake; he ignored it in favour of focusing on the crunch of glass against feet, moving toward him. “I can’t see.”

Merrick paused in his planning; someone choked.

“Shit.”

/ / /

By the time his vision became dim but manageable, they had waited a little too long; more Feds had adventured to the main floor and Logan wasn’t liking their chances.

Especially when Riley was shot.

Their dog. The one they raised from pup to a strong, reliable canine and Logan wasn’t going to just leave him there. Neither was Hesh.

So, Logan picked up their loyal companion and followed the other Ghosts.

/ / /

Hesh was about to get shot.

A premonition. Knowledge that pushed itself into his brain, that had been entering since that faithful day in Fort Santa Monica.

His vision was clearer; immediately pinpointing the attacker, Logan placed his whining dog down.

And flung a hand in front of his brother’s face.

The shot fired; he watched the line of trajectory in slow motion, red against an even darker red; the bullet.

Before he could wonder what the fuck it meant, the bullet was penetrating his forearm.

It hit bone; Logan felt it break into many pieces, screamed when his nerves did.  

Hesh cried his name. Falling into a crouch, Logan gingerly held his shattered arm, tears welling up.

_Shit_. Never had he felt pain like that.

(Not physically; mentally, he’d had that same break earlier that day, except everywhere.)

“Logan, you okay?” A hand on his shoulder; Keegan was there, Hesh covering him as the medic checked on the supposed-to-be blind soldier.

Turning around, he pushed himself against their cover beside the ruined train. “No, ah!” It stabbed him again and again and again. “This – ah! – this is really b – ah! – d.”

A light invasive touch; he winced heavily, pulling his arm away.

He sighed. “Logan, I have to look at it.”

The young Ghost shook his still healing head; it pounded. “No. We-we gotta get out of here first.”

Logan turned, picked up Riley with his good arm, and that was that.

/ / /

The helicopter took off and Logan relaxed.

The moment he did, his arm screamed, his head roared and there was no way in hell he was staying conscious.

In the helicopter with his comrades and a bunch of friendlies, the young Ghost felt his eyes roll into the back of his head.

/ / /

Logan woke up with another migraine.

It wasn’t like last time, but it still sucked; his vision was fuzzy, and he couldn’t focus on anything.

At least he could see.

“You’re awake.” The loud voice echoed in his ears; Logan winced as he looked to his right.

Keegan, out of kit, sitting beside his bunk-bed, Merrick standing next to him.

Blinking, the young Ghost struggled to separate their blending features, head yelling angrily.

“How are you feeling?” Merrick asked, the whisper much appreciated.

His head stabbed him. “Like crap.”

Both men chuckled.

/ / /

_Daddy! Daddy, I love you! Please, please don’t go! Please!_

Bullets. A sea of red. More bullets. Sinking deeper. A fucking _storm_ of bullets.

_Daddy! Daddy!_

His face. His smirk. His laugh.

_I’m going to kill him._

But then he remembered who’s fault it was and all the rage went down the drain.

_Please…please. Don’t…don’t hate me, daddy._

(He woke up crying every time; Hesh was there to comfort him.)

/ / /

He got his father’s mask _(“Here, Logan. This belonged to him. You’ve earnt it…literally.”_ ).

Pride welled up in his gut, but…

_If only I could’ve saved you._

(Logan wished his father had his ability. Then he wouldn’t be dead, and everything would be okay.)

/ / /

They made a promise to avenge their father.

Logan wasn’t sure his heart was fully in it.

/ / /

The Federation attacked.

Logan followed Hesh.

He shot Feds, he destroyed incoming boats, he saved lives.

Through all the carnage of the collapsing U.S.S _Liberator_ , it was a wonder they escaped unharmed (for once with his extremely horrid luck).

When making it to a surviving Black Hawk for extraction, Logan gave Hesh a proud smile, because his brother commanded that op.

Hesh returned it.

/ / /

A few hours passed before they were back on the battlefield.

Behind the mini-gun, the Feds didn’t stand a chance.

Jumping from the helicopter, they dispatched the rest of the Feds.

From there, it was easy enough to reach the control room; the fire extinguisher made sure of that.

Launching the missile was a weight off their shoulders.

Then Rorke came into the conversation and Hesh didn’t hesitate to go after him.

/ / /

Logan had a bad feeling.

Ignoring it, he continued to fire at the panicking Feds.

/ / /

They got on the train.

Logan’s gut continued to spiral.

/ / /

Rorke appeared on a screen in the wall.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?”

Hesh smashed the screen.

“Let’s finish this.”

They continued their rampage through the train.

/ / /

Logan was seeing red.

Bullets, their paths, their weapons.

Whenever a line landed on Hesh, he’d take the target out before they could shoot. Ducked before they could hit the young Ghost. Dodged bullets when he pressed onward.

Helicopters were no match for him (even if their crash into the train hurt). Tangos cowered at the sight of him. Hesh stopped firing after a few hits on already dead Feds; he couldn’t keep up with his pace.

He picked up SMGs, shotguns, anything he could get his hands on. Shot all with the accuracy of a master all-rounder and was throwing back grenades the moment they landed.

“Logan…holy shit, you’re…” Hesh trailed off in their moment of peace, shaking his head with a smile.

“ _What is it_?” Merrick asked over the comms, concern seeping through.

Hesh’s eyes crinkled as they shared a look, Logan breathing heavily with a borrowed MTS-255 in hand. “He’s a one-man army.”

Even though pride filled his gut, it churned with premonition.

/ / /

“Merrick, do you copy?” Hesh asked, the brothers standing by the final door.

“ _Copy, Hesh_.”

Hesh gave Logan a determined look. “We're moving in on Rorke. If you hear the word "Checkmate", you will fire on our position. Confirm.”

There was a beat of silence. _“Say again, repeat your last...”_

“You heard me, Merrick! On "checkmate", hit this train!” Hesh yelled above the roar of the train before turning to Logan. “We can't take any chances, Logan.” He nodded, eyeing him. “Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” He took a breath.

Logan intervened when his gut flared at Rorke’s name. “Hesh, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Rorke-”

“Do you want to fulfill the promise we made?” Hesh asked, cutting him off.

It was an unfair question; Logan nodded.

His brother smiled. “Okay. Three, two, one...”

With an AK-12 in his hand, he breached.

/ / /

RPG. Engine hit. Uncontrollable slide into the control room.

Logan, his luck finally striking back, rammed into Rorke.

They grappled with his gun. Logan used it to kill two Feds before the Ghost Killer headbutted him.

One punch to the face later had fireworks exploding before his eyes; he was wrapped up and held hostage within his few immobile seconds.

“Drop it, now!” Rorke yelled, cold metal pressing into his head.

They shared a look; Hesh pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

The Ghost Killer pointed his gun at Hesh.

“You can’t win, Rorke. It’s over.”

Rorke shot his brother in the stomach, kicking him against the bolted bench.

Sucking in a breath, Logan had no time to yell; he was being hauled over by the Ghost-turned-Fed, gun pressing into his brother’s head.

“Checkmate.” Hesh grunted; Rorke slackened his grip before tightening it again, stepping away from his brother.

_“Checkmate confirmed.”_

“What was that? What did you do?” The Ghost Killer asked viciously.

Hesh smirked. “You lost, Rorke.” A rod slammed into the tracks. “It’s over.”

“Shit, son…” Rorke breathed. 

The track crumbled. Three gravity-defying seconds later, they collided with water.

/ / /

He was slow to wake; Rorke was faster.

The gun landed in front of him. He reached; it bounced away.

Next to Rorke (his luck).

Grabbing the gun, the Fed pulled the trigger-

A fire extinguisher rocketed into the back of his head.

The shot missed.

“Grab the gun!” Hesh yelled, grappling with the Ghost Killer.

He had it in hand; Rorke flung his brother into the floor of unstable glass. “Shoot him!”

_Click_. No ammo.

Avoiding a knife, Hesh reached beside him.

“Logan, here!” Bullets flew toward him.

Logan caught one.

Rorke reached for him.

Hesh pulled him back.

Reloading the 44-Magnum, the young Ghost aimed at the held Ghost-turned-Fed.

Who was in front of Hesh.

There was a moment of hesitation. Of knowledge that he would hit his brother. Of foreboding.

Then he shot him in the chest and they both went down.

Glass cracked.

Logan had a second of warning before it shattered, and water filled their cart.

/ / /

Grabbing Hesh, Logan swam for the surface.

Debris cut his arms. His heartbeat quickened. His vision blurred.

But…

They made it.

Onto the beach. Against rocks. Alive.

Logan breathed. Just breathed for a while, watched the rods destroy the Federation fleet.

But…his gut didn’t let up. Hadn’t since Hesh confirmed Rorke’s death.

It screamed with each passing second; when Logan finally looked to the right, he realised why.

Painful foot to his face. Drawn knife met resistant hand. Elbow met arm and _FUUUCCCCCKKKKK_ _it just snapped in two holy shit-_

Rorke punched him in the face. Seeing red, Logan slackened against the floor.

A moment later, a kick was sent into Hesh’s face.

Then Rorke was crouched in front of him, telling him shit that didn’t make any sense-

Until it did.

Logan tried to get up. Tried to do something, anything. But his nose burned, his head roared and his arm…holy shit, his arm-

“We’re gonna destroy them together.”

Holding his stomach, Rorke grabbed his leg.

Then he was getting dragged across hot, cutting sand.

“Logan.” Hesh was looking at him; realisation crossed his features.

The young Ghost wheezed, trying and failing to grip the biting sand.

“Logan!” His brother fell towards him, face scrunched up.

He attempted to breath his brother’s name, breath quickening.

“LOGAN!”

Pain seized him, then he knew no more.

/ / /

Waking up to dirt and rocks scratching him wasn’t nice.

Neither was the migraine. Or his throbbing head and nose.

Bloody fingers attempted to dig into dirt to no avail.

_I need to get up._ Logan thought blearily through his swimming vision, gut screaming. _I need to get up of he’ll…_

His limbs didn’t move.

Vision already fading, Logan attempts to grip it, knowing, just knowing that-

_Everything will change._

And he fought hard. Tried to focus on the rocks cutting his skin, the grunts ahead of him, even the pain rebounding through his skull.

But…

It wasn’t enough.

/ / /

When Logan woke up again, he was in the Pit. A place that haunted his dreams.

It was there, on that first day, where he made a promise.

_I won’t give in._

/ / /

“But that was then.” Logan muses, staring up at the night sky for the umpteenth time.

“And promises are made to be broken.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how long this is gonna be, but it won't be huge. Probably won't make 10.


End file.
